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Fold itself for the serener clime
Of years to come, and find its recompense
In that just expectation. Wit and sense,
Virtue and human knowledge; all that might
Make this dull world a business of delight,
Are all combined in Horace Smith. And these,
With some exceptions, which I need not tease
Your patience by descanting on, are all
You and I know in London.

I recall My thoughts, and bid you look upon the night. As water does a sponge, so the moonlight Fills the void, hollow, universal air. What see you ?- unpavilioned heaven is fair Whether the moon, into her chamber gone, Leaves midnight to the golden stars, or wan Climbs with diminished beams the azure steep ; Or whether clouds sail o'er the inverse deep, Piloted by the many-wandering blast, And the rare stars rush through them dim and

fast: All this is beautiful in

land. But what see you beside ? — a shabby stand Of Hackney coaches — a brick house or wall Fencing some lonely court, white with the scrawl Of our unhappy politics; or worse — A wretched woman reeling by, whose curse Mixed with the watchman's, partner of her trade, You must accept in place of serenade,

every

245 the, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || a, Mrs. Shelley, 1824.

247 expectation, Mrs. Shelley, 1824 || reputation, Mrs. Shelley, transcript.

Or yellow-haired Pollonia murmuring
To Henry, some unutterable thing.
I see a chaos of green leaves and fruit
Built round dark caverns, even to the root
Of the living stems that feed them in whose

bowers
There sleep in their dark dew the folded flowers ;
Beyond, the surface of the unsickled corn
Trembles not in the slumbering air, and borne
In circles quaint and ever changing dance,
Like winged stars, the fireflies flash and glance,
Pale in the open moonshine, but each one
Under the dark trees seems a little sun,
A meteor tamed, a fixed star gone astray
From the silver regions of the milky way;
Afar the Contadino's song is heard,
Rude, but made sweet by distance - and a bird
Which cannot be the Nightingale, and yet
I know none else that sings so sweet as it
At this late hour ; - and then all is still.
Now Italy or London, which you will!

Next winter

you
must
pass

with me; I'll have
My house by that time turned into a grave
Of dead despondence and low-thoughted care,
And all the dreams which our tormentors are ;
Oh! that Hunt, Hogg, Peacock and Smith were

there, With every thing belonging to them fair!

272, 273 Mrs. Shelley, 18392 || omit, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824, 18391.

276 that, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || who, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 288 the, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || a, Mrs. Shelley, 1824. 296 Boscombe MS., Mrs. Shelley, transcript.

We will have books, Spanish, Italian, Greek ;
And ask one week to make another week
As like his father, as I'm unlike mine,
Which is not his fault, as you may divine.
Though we eat little flesh and drink no wine,
Yet let's be merry: we'll have tea and toast;
Custards for supper, and an endless host
Of syllabubs and jellies and mince-pies,
And other such lady-like luxuries, –
Feasting on which we will philosophize !
And we'll have fires out of the Grand Duke's wood,
To thaw the six weeks' winter in our blood.
And then we'll talk; what shall we talk about ?
Oh! there are themes enough for many a bout
Of thought-entangled descant; - as to nerves —
With cones and parallelograms and curves
I've sworn to strangle them if once they dare
To bother me when you are with me there.
And they shall never more sip laudanum,
From Helicon or Himeros; -- well, come,
And in despite of God and of the devil,
We'll make our friendly philosophic revel
Outlast the leafless time; till buds and flowers
Warn the obscure inevitable hours
Sweet meeting by sad parting to renew ;
“ To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new."

301 Mrs. Shelley, transcript || omit, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391,2.

317 well, come, Mrs. Shelley, 18392 || we'll come, Mrs. Shelley, transcript, 1824, 18391.

318 despite of God, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || despite of ... Mrs. Shelley, 1824, spite of .. Mrs. Shelley, 18391

319 We'll, Mrs. Shelley, transcript || Will, Mrs. Shelley, 1824, 18391,2

ODE TO NAPLES

EPODE I a

I STOOD within the city disinterred ;

And heard the autumnal leaves like light footfalls Of spirits passing through the streets ; and heard The Mountain's slumberous voice at intervals

Thrill through those roofless halls; The oracular thunder penetrating shook

The listening soul in my suspended blood; I felt that Earth out of her deep heart spoke — I felt, but heard not. Through white columns

glowed

The isle-sustaining Ocean-flood,
A plane of light between two Heavens of azure:

Around me gleamed many a bright sepulchre Of whose pure beauty, Time, as if his pleasure Were to spare Death, had never made erasure;

But every living lineament was clear

As in the sculptor's thought; and there The wreaths of stony myrtle, ivy and pine,

Like winter leaves o'ergrown by moulded snow, Seemed only not to move and grow

Because the crystal silence of the air Weighed on their life ; even as the Power divine, Which then lulled all things, brooded upon mine.

EPODE II a

Then gentle winds arose,

With many a mingled close Ode to Naples. Published by Mrs. Shelley, 1824. Composed at the Baths of San Giuliano, near Pisa, August 17–25.

Of wild Æolian sound and mountain odor keen ;

And where the Baian ocean

Welters with air-like motion, Within, above, around its bowers of starry green, Moving the sea-flowers in those purple caves, Even as the ever stormless atmosphere

Floats o'er the Elysian realm,
It bore me, like an angel, o'er the waves
Of sunlight, whose swift pinnace of dewy air

No storm can overwhelm.
I sailed where ever flows
Under the calm Serene
A spirit of deep emotion
From the unknown graves

Of the dead kings of Melody.
Shadowy Aornus darkened o'er the helm
The horizontal ether; heaven stripped bare
Its depths over Elysium, where the prow
Made the invisible water white as snow;
From that Typhæan mount, Inarimé,
There streamed a sunlit vapor, like the standard

Of some ethereal host;

Whilst from all the coast, Louder and louder, gathering round, there wan

dered Over the oracular woods and divine sea Prophesyings which grew articulate — They seize me — I must speak them — be they

fate!

STROPHE a 1

Naples, thou Heart of men, which ever pantest

Naked, beneath the lidless eye of heaven! Elysian City, which to calm enchantest

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